Shelter from the Storm
by MaytoDecemberRomanceContest
Summary: Contest Entry for the May to December Romance Twific Contest


Contest entry for the May to December Romance Contest

**Title**: Shelter from the Storm  
><strong><br>****Rating**: M

**Summary**: Contest Entry for the May to December Romance Twific Contest

**Disclaimer****: **The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p>"Bella, ven aquí."<p>

I put down my spray bottle and walk over to Jorge, who's filling the garnish dishes in preparation for Happy Hour.

"María just showed up, so you can go after finishing the countertops."

My eyes widen. "What the hell? You know I had shit for tables today, Papí. I can't miss the Friday night crowd!"

The husky gray-haired man shrugs indifferently. "Lo siento. Talk to Luisa."

I sigh and return to wiping down the tabletops. It's going to be rough next week without the money I would've made in tips. Three bucks an hour doesn't go far. All I can do is hope Alice and Jasper got lucky on the streets today.

After putting my apron in the hamper, I trudge to the storeroom to grab my duffle bag. María passes me along the way, tilting her head away, as if trying to reinforce the message that I'm beneath her notice. What-the-fuck-ever. I stopped caring what other people think a long time ago.

I get out my shitty cell phone and call the first number on my very short contact list.

"Hey Bella! How's it going?"

Despite my mood, I smile at Alice's cheery voice. After all that girl's been through, it's amazing that she's still so damned pleasant.

"Bitch cut me loose early. I'm leaving in a few minutes. Where are you?"

"I had to hit the West side. Big Block was roaming the park this morning."

Ah yes. Officer Thorton, one of the many cops who have no tolerance for people like me and her. He's always scowling, and Alice thinks he's got some extreme constipation going on.

"You going over to Paul's now?" she asks.

"Yeah, my feet are killing me. I was gonna buy some decent shoes this weekend, but that's out now. Whatever, fuck it all. You wanna come over and hang or get a shower or something? Paul won't be home until after eight."

"Sure! Let me get my stuff together."

"Okay, see ya soon."

I end the call and glance down at the screen. Shit. Only 10 minutes of air time left. A phone card was another thing I was going to buy after working the busy Happy Hour shift. Looks like I'll be dipping into savings. I can suffer through piece-of-shit shoes that had never fit in the first place, but I've got to have my phone. It's my lifeline to Alice.

I'm standing on the sidewalk, looking to my right at the beginning of a torturous twenty-minute walk. On my left, a few yards away, is a bus stop shelter, and it's calling to me. God, I'm dying to catch a ride, but there's no way to justify it, especially now. Raw skin will heal—those two bucks will be gone forever.

I try not to think about the pain and go to the happy place in my head. There, I work a nice 9-to-5 job and live with Alice in a clean apartment. There's fresh food in the refrigerator, and I don't have to wear flip-flops in the shower. I'd love for the place to be free of bugs and mice, but that might be asking too much.

Paul's apartment has the refrigerator and fungus-free shower, but that's it. Even though I feel like I'm always cleaning when I'm over, it's still a sty. There are leftover takeout containers and beer in the fridge—and not much else. As far as bugs and mice go…well, let's just say it's a good thing I'm not squeamish about stuff like that.

I met Paul during my first evening shift at Papacito's, about six months ago. He hit on me all night and asked me out to coffee after work. I accepted, flattered by the cute guy's attention. One thing led to another, and I found myself waking up in his bed the next morning. He wasn't weird about it and said he'd call me. I was sure as hell surprised when I saw his number on my phone two days later.

I'd been able to deflect most of the personal questions at first, but by the third date, it was time to decide whether to lay out the truth or lie like a dog. I hadn't been in a relationship since my world went to hell, and I was on the fence about fessing up. But I did it—I told him about my miserable situation. Surprisingly, he was great about it.

At first.

Recently, he's been taking a lot of cheap shots at me. It started out like he was complimenting me—saying my clothes couldn't possibly have looked so good on the person who'd originally bought them, and stuff like that. But he's gotten meaner about it, as though he's trying to make sure I remember he's better off than me. As if I could fucking forget it.

By the time I've reached Paul's apartment, I realize that I've left Happy Place about ten blocks back. At least there's beer and a couch to look forward to. All-in-all, it's a good deal. With this pretty picture in my head, I ride the elevator to the third floor and unlock the door to Paul's apartment.

It's not hard to guess what I discover. I mean, it's _so_ cliché. Clueless person leaves work early and doesn't let his or her partner know…_of course_ Clueless Person is going to walk inside to find Partner having wild sex on the couch…or, in my case, hear moans and headboard noises coming from the bedroom.

What might be different for me is that I don't feel very hurt—I'm just trying to decide if I should get the fuck out of Dodge and hide out until the time I'd normally come by. I mean, I'm not going to stay with the asshole or anything, but I _really_ don't want to deal with this right now. Not when I'd been looking forward to propping my feet up on the coffee table and watching some reality TV with a Coors Light in my hand.

Mind made up, I start to tiptoe out of the apartment. And that's when my ass pumps out some Beyoncé.

Oops.

My hand flies to the back pocket of my khaki work skirt, but it's too damned late. The thumping sounds from the bedroom stop, and then I hear Paul's voice.

"Shit—Bella? Is that you?"

I don't bother replying to him and answer the phone instead.

"Hey, Alice. Can you hang on for, like, ten minutes?" I say when I see the bedroom door opening. "I've gotta deal with an issue here, then I'll be down."

"Rose found me." Her urgent words come out in a rush.

"What? Fuck!" As I spin around toward the front door, Paul appears in the hallway, wearing just his boxers. I flick him off over my shoulder and run to the staircase, which is sure to be faster than the elevator.

"Are you here now?" I pant into the phone, flying down the steps.

"Two blocks away." Though her voice is a whisper, I can hear the anxiety in it.

"Shit. Listen, just keep walking. Don't look at her, don't talk to her. And try to keep Jasper from biting her fucking head off, okay? I'm coming."

Finally, my fingers touch the handle of the building's entrance door.

"One sec…okay, I see you. Keep walking, you're doing great."

I can't go very fast with the big-ass bag and shitty shoes, but my adrenaline's high. The thought of Rose, alone, would've amped me up, but add the Paul situation to the mix, and I'm a fucking H-bomb ready to blow.

My eyes are narrowed and focused on the small group ahead. The sight of the two females side-by-side would probably be interesting if I was a stranger looking on. It's like a pairing of near opposites: short and tall, hollowed and curvy, pale white and bronzed, spiky black and flowing blond.

They're different in other ways, too. Alice is sunshine and sweet goodness, Rose is the devil incarnate strutting around in slutty clothes.

As usual, Jasper is right on Alice's heels, his lips pulled away from his teeth in a vicious snarl. That's normally all it takes for people to back off, but Rose isn't exactly normal.

Though I'm still a half-block away, I call out a greeting.

"Hey, bitch. How 'bout you get the fuck away before I send you back to Hell where you belong?"

Rose flicks her eyes to me and smirks. As I near them, she lifts a finger to Alice's lips. A warning growl rumbles through Jasper's body as he crouches down to attack.

"Jasper, no!" I yell out, grabbing the leash from Alice's wrist just as the German Shepherd springs. My forceful yank makes him miss his mark. He twists midair to land on his feet, dumping the contents of the cart he was pulling all over the sidewalk.

Rose jumps backward and screams.

"You bitches crazy? I'ma tell Emmett about this. He's gonna fuck you both up. He'll kill that dog, too! "

I'm tugging on the leash with all my strength, but Jasper's still dragging me forward, barking and growling.

"Yeah?" I yell over the racket. "I heard he was done with you after you got baited by the cops. He's not gonna do shit for you."

Rose looks like she wants to lunge at me, but a glance at Jasper's snapping jaws keeps her from moving. She glares at me, then turns to Alice, who's trembling behind Jasper.

"Come back with me, Ali." Her voice is now smooth and seductive. "I promise it'll work this time. Remember all the fun we had? That methadone shit they got you on ain't nowhere as good, is it?"

I don't know if Alice wants to answer, but I'm not giving her a chance, regardless.

"You got three seconds to get the fuck out of here before I let go of this leash," I say in a cold, deadly tone.

She knows I'm not dicking around. Her eyes widen, and she turns on her heels to bolt away.

Just as I'm about to bust out laughing at her terrified expression, Alice touches my elbow and gasps. I look over my shoulder to see a flashing blue light headed toward us.

"Shit, you gotta run!" I cry out, reaching down and unbuckling Jasper's harness. "Try to make it home if you can. I'll get your stuff and stall the pigs. Go!"

I slip the loop of Jasper's leash over Alice's wrist and give her a little shove. She's shaking violently now but takes off down a nearby alley.

The cop car is getting closer. If I run, I'd probably get away, but there's no way I'd abandon Alice's wagon. It carries most of her belongings, and she trusts me to take care of her. That girl is the only thing in the world I give a damn about, and I would do anything for her.

I've just finished scooping up the last of her things when the car pulls up beside me. As nonchalantly as possible, I grab Jasper's harness and begin to walk forward.

"Hold up a second."

I keep going, pretending not to know he's talking to me.

"Hey! You with the wagon…I need to talk to you."

Sighing, I stop and turn around. A young officer with a round baby face and thick body is approaching. He opens his mouth to speak but then bends over and picks up a tiny plastic baggy. When he stands up again, he's smirking.

_Fuck_.

"This yours?" he asks, holding up the bag of sand-colored powder.

"No."

"Yeah, right. If I look through your stuff, am I going to find other things like this that 'aren't yours'?"

I sigh again and hold out my arms for the pat-down I know is coming. Baby Face searches me and takes my ID. His next move is to dig through the wagon, carelessly flinging everything onto the sidewalk.

"What's this?"

He holds up a sandwich baggy containing several round white pills.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Though I feel like I just got kicked in the gut, I try to keep my face neutral as I shrug. I honestly don't know what those pills are, but if Alice has been lying about staying clean, I'll be heartbroken.

Baby Face lays the sandwich bag down beside the other small bag on the hood of his car. He peers at my driver's license and then reaches for a pair of handcuffs on his belt.

"Ms. Swan, turn around with your hands behind your back. I'm placing you under arrest for—"

"What's going on, Blake?"

I hadn't even noticed the black SUV that had pulled up behind the cruiser. A trim, gray-haired man in a uniform gets out from the passenger side and strolls over to us.

Baby Face straightens up and clears his throat. "Hello, Chief. I was about to arrest this girl for drug possession." He tilts his head toward the two bags on his car.

The Chief nods and leans in to take a closer look, focusing on the bag of white pills. Both Baby Face and I startle when the older man bursts out laughing.

"Jesus, Blake, you're lucky I dropped by." He chucks the bag at the other man's chest. "The guys would've had a field day if you'd turned in a bag of _Excedrin_."

The tension drains out of me. As long as Alice is still fighting her battle, I can handle the rest.

"What's the deal with the H?" the Chief asks, looking me over thoughtfully.

Baby Face tries to regain his composure after the embarrassing mistake. "Uh, yessir, the heroin was found on the sidewalk about six feet behind the accused, who was leaving the scene when I arrived."

"Scene of what?"

"I noticed an altercation between three females, and this girl—um, last name Swan—was holding the leash of a German Shepherd that was trying to attack one of the other girls. By the time I pulled up, everyone had run except for her. She was picking up the contents of this cart."

"Hmm. Did you witness her with the bag at any point? Did she toss it?"

"Uh, not that I saw, but—"

"And this is all you found—nothing actually in her possession?"

"Well, no…I mean, yes. This is it. She didn't have anything on her that I could find, but—"

The Chief picks up my license, looks at it, then at me.

"Nineteen, huh? Are you a student, Isabella?"

"No…um, _sir_." I decide to turn on a little charm and answer respectfully. If this guy will cut me a break, I'm all about encouraging him however I can.

"Is this your current address? Or your parent's, maybe?"

"No, sir. I mean, it's where my mom used to live, but she's not…there…anymore. I don't know where my dad is."

He scratches his jaw and purses his lips. "Okay then, where do you live?"

I hesitate. While I don't have to answer his questions, I also don't want to give him any reason to take me in. Squaring my shoulders, I look him in the eyes.

"I've got a bed at the Lowell Street Shelter."

"Ah…I see."

Something flashes across his face too quickly for me to read. It might've been disappointment or resignation or…determination? He turns to the other officer.

"Did you run the license?"

Baby Face winces. "Uh, not yet, sir. I was going to secure her in the vehicle first. I'll run it right now."

"Don't bother. There's no point in wasting any more time on this. Take care of the paperwork on the H and turn it in." The Chief jerks his chin in my direction. "I'm sure she's got better things to do than suffer through hours of in-processing on a bullshit charge."

"But sir—"

"That'll be all, Blake." He nods curtly, then stretches out his hand in an invitation for me to walk with him.

Baby Face looks like he's about to cry. I shoot him a beaming smile and move to accompany the Chief. Alice's wagon creaks behind me.

"So, Ms. Swan—"

"Bella," I say. Might as well make nice with the guy who just saved my ass. It could turn out useful to have such an authoritative figure on my side in the future.

He smiles at the offer of my first name, and I notice he's pretty damned handsome…for a guy who could be my grandfather. Not that I'm interested or anything. I'm not _that_ desperate yet.

"Hello, Bella," he says. "Here's your license back. Oh, and you can call me Carlisle, if you'd like. Chief's fine, too."

"Hey, Chief Carlisle. What's up?" I thrust out my hand.

He shakes it and gives me another warm grin. "I'm not going to pry into your personal situation, Bella, but I do want to make sure you're taking advantage of all the resources available to you. For example, there's the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program and—"

"Yeah, I got a SNAP card. Trust me, I've looked into it all. It's just…I got other things to take care of, too." I hate to call Alice a "thing," but this guy's still a badge, no matter how nice he seems. On the street, you learn early not to trust anyone.

The Chief nods as if he understands, and who knows, maybe he does. I'm sure he's seen all kinds of shit over the years. My problems are probably tame compared to some.

"Is there anything you need right now?" he asks kindly. "Lowell Street is a hike from here. Do you want a ride?"

Anything I need…ha, does he want a list? I think of Paul and whatever skank-ho he was with. Carlisle probably wasn't including a baseball bat or shotgun in his offer. But a ride would be nice. My feet still hurt like a mother, and the shelter's a good thirty-minute walk away.

"I'd love to catch a lift, thanks."

When we near the SUV, I see another uniformed man sitting in the driver's seat. He's got a frown on his face and dark sunglasses covering his eyes.

"Have a seat in the back. I'll put your things in the trunk."

Following Carlisle's directions, I open the door and climb inside. The man in front doesn't say anything or even turn around to acknowledge me.

Can't say I'm surprised. For all he knows, I'm a drug-dealing prostitute or something. I get that cops have to deal with the ass-cheese of the streets every day. So while I don't like the fuckers in blue, I can still understand where they're coming from, most of the time.

Carlisle opens the front passenger side door but doesn't get in.

"Bella, this is my nephew, Edward. He'll take you wherever you need to go. An issue just came up at the station, so I'm going back with Blake. Why don't you hop up here to the front?" He hands me a business card as I switch seats and then concentrates a meaningful stare on the other officer. "I'm sure Edward will be a _shining_ example of our city's finest. If he isn't, Bella, please feel free to call my personal line and let me know."

"Will do, Carlisle," I say sweetly, delighting in Edward's sour expression. "Thanks for everything. I really appreciate it."

I know it's messed up, but apparently, my misery is loving the company. In an attempt to push Mr. Pissy's buttons even more, I throw my arms around Carlisle neck and give him a quick hug. The older man chuckles, but it's his nephew's reaction that I'm interested in. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him roll his eyes and shake his head. Perfect.

"What's the address?" he mutters after the Chief shuts my door.

For the first time in a while, I feel ashamed of the turn my life has taken, even though the circumstances weren't my fault. I just know this guy is going to judge me. That bothers me, and I have no idea why.

"Lowell Street," I say quietly. "The city shelter."

His scowl deepens, and my embarrassment is replaced by irritation.

"God, you cops are just somuch better than the rest of us, aren't you? I know what you're thinking—we're all lazy bums who want handouts instead of jobs. But you really don't have a fucking clue about our lives."

He rolls his eyes again and scoffs as he pulls away from the curb. "Trust me, little girl, you have _no_ idea what's going on in my head. If you did, you wouldn't be running your smartass mouth like that."

I glare at him, a lot pissed but also a little curious. I want to know what he means though I won't give him the satisfaction of asking. The fucker basically called me a _kid_. I don't know when the term last applied to me, but it sure wasn't recently. If people still have youth or innocence when they get to the streets, it's quickly sucked out of them, along with most of their humanity.

Mr. Deep-Thinking Pissy Cop is looking straight ahead, and I twist in my seat to study his features. He's long-limbed and has muscles in the right places—it's obvious he takes care of himself. I can only see his profile, but his rugged-looking face seems gaunt and pinched. There's tightness at the corner of his eye, and a few wrinkles there suggest he's in his thirties.

Now that I've taken him in more closely, I do think he's pretty damned hot. If he wasn't a fucking cop with a stick up his ass, I'd probably use the opportunity to hit on him. It'd be good to get some rebound sex and spend the night in a nice bed. Hell, even his couch has got to be better to sleep on than the shitty mattresses at the shelter or blankets spread over the ground at Alice's.

"What?" Edward faces me after he stops at a red light. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

I want to say something sarcastic or harsh, but the man _is_ a badge. Though Carlisle sounded like he'd back me up if his nephew tried to get me in trouble, I'm not going to push my luck. I just shrug and turn to the front.

The drive to the shelter takes about fifteen minutes. We don't speak to each other for the rest of the trip, although Edward does occasionally mutter incoherently under his breath.

I use part of the time to text Alice and let her know my plans. I tell her I'll bring her stuff over after my stop at the shelter, but she replies with one word: Timeout.

My shoulders droop. I should've known she'd retreat into herself after the stress of meeting up with Rose. The bitch had come across Alice when the young girl ran away from her horrifically abusive foster parents. Rose acted like she was helping Alice by giving her a place to live but ended up getting her addicted to drugs. Then she hooked her up with a pimp so Alice could pay for the habit through prostitution. Alice had been fifteen at the time.

From what I'd gathered, she'd already been messed up in the head before Rose, and when I met her, Alice was barely more than a strung-out shell of a person. She's come a long way in a short time, but even now, when something overloads her sensitive mind, she shuts herself away from the world, including me.

I decide to hang onto her things overnight and check on her in the morning. I wouldn't have left her alone before Jasper came into our lives, but those two share a special bond. He helps in ways I never could.

Alice is still on my mind when we pull up in front of the Lowell Street Shelter. Eager to get out of my damned shoes, I climb out of the SUV and hurry to the trunk. I'm surprised when the engine cuts off and the driver-side door opens.

Edward comes around to the back and reaches for the trunk handle.

"I'm good now," I tell him, trying to stay polite. "Thanks for the ride."

He ignores my words as he leans into the trunk and lifts the wagon out.

"I'm taking this to your room," he says in a voice that shows he doesn't really want to help but also won't change his mind about doing it.

There's that weird flash of humiliation again as I think the room that isn't mine at all. It's not even a room—more like a bay with eight bunk beds sets. Each person assigned to a bed gets a standup locker that's about six feet tall, three feet wide, and two feet deep. We can keep whatever we want in them, but that's the extent of our storage space inside the shelter. If something's lying around unattended, it'll either get stolen by other residents or thrown away by staff.

Still, a bed and locker assignment is a great privilege, and only those who hold a consistent job can apply to the residency program. Everyone else wanting to spend the night at the shelter has to get in line each day and hope for the best. The staff starts giving out sleeping mats at 6:30 p.m., but people gather outside several hours before the doors open at five.

I walk toward the security checkpoint, Edward following behind me. The outside of the Lowell Street building is just like the inside: dirty and falling apart. In general, the shelter is overpopulated and underfunded, has a laundry list of code violations that rarely get fixed, and is staffed mostly by low-paid workers who don't give a damn.

There's a guy at the entrance that I've never seen before. He glances at me with a look I'm familiar with—disdain mixed with desire. But then he notices the uniform behind me. His posture straightens at the same time his eyes shift around with nervousness.

"Uh, can I help you?" He's speaking to Edward, who dips his head in my direction.

"Checking in," I say, dropping my duffel on the ground for inspection. There are dozens of things we're not allowed to bring inside the shelter, and our belongings are searched upon entry. Privacy is another luxury I've lost.

"Gimme your ID…uh, please." He adds the last part when Edward shoots him a warning look.

I sigh and dig out my wallet out of my bag. The usual guys who work the checkpoint know the residents by sight and don't need to ask for ID.

When I hand over my license, he checks my name and then scans a clipboard on his desk.

"You're not on here, sorry."

"Yeah, I am. Check again."

He opens his mouth as if he's going to bitch me out, but once more, Edward's expression makes him reconsider.

"I'm telling you, it's not here. Look yourself."

I grab the clipboard and see that he wasn't making it up—my name's gone from the list.

"What the hell is this bullshit?" I rage. "Call up Ken. He'll get it straightened out. I mean, fuck, I've been living here for the past six months!"

The guy peers at some Post-Its stuck to the desk and taps one of them.

"Ken had to take emergency leave from work. Some guy named Jim is the acting supervisor until he gets back."

A feeling of dread creeps over me. This might not be the case of a simple mistake. James "Jim" Buchanan has been trying to hook up with me since I started coming here over eight months ago. He's made all kinds of sketchy offers like letting me have first choice of any new items that come in or giving me unlimited access to the food pantry. I've always rejected him as nicely as I can—you don't shit where you eat _or_ sleep.

But lately, he's been getting pushier and even hostile, at times. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already abusing his new position.

It only takes a few minutes for Jim to show up at the security desk. The smug-ass smirk on his face falls off the second he notices I've got a cop with me.

"Hi, Officer, uh…Cullen," he says nervously, squinting at the nametag. "What's going on?"

Before Edward can speak, I'm in Jim's face.

"Yeah, what the fuck _is_ going on? How come I'm not on the list? What did you do?"

"_I_ didn't doanything. It's what _you_ did," he says, getting snotty with me. "You broke a rule, I followed procedure."

"What the hell are you talking about? I've been a fucking angel since I got here!"

"The lock on your cabinet isn't the one you were provided by the shelter—the one that works with our master key. We conducted a personal effects inspection today and had to cut your lock to get inside. That's a violation, and anyone who breaks the rules can be asked to leave."

"More bullshit!" I yell. "The lock I was given broke, and I've asked for a new one, like, five fucking times. Two months ago, I was told they were on order, but you know damned well that if you leave your cabinet unlocked, shit gets stolen. I bought one myself and gave Dennis a copy of the key to put on the master keychain. It's even labeled with my fucking name!"

"Well, no one here today was aware of that. Sorry." He tries to put on an apologetic expression and totally fails.

A chilling thought strikes me. "So my cabinet doesn't have a lock on it right now?"

He cringes, but I know it's only because Edward is glaring daggers at him. "Actually, the cleaning staff emptied it out to make room for the new resident who took your place. I'm not sure what they did with everything."

"Then you better find out, you piece of shit!"

I'm starting to get a little hysterical. Other than the things in my duffel, everything I have to my name was in that cabinet. Jim reaches for his handheld radio and starts yakking into it.

An hour later, I sit on the ground by the shelter's dumpster—the recently emptied dumpster. It's surprising to me that I'm not bawling my eyes out at what happened, but all I feel is numbness. There's a buzzing in my head, and everything I see is blurry. A dulled reaction to grief—another fun by-product of street life.

I dimly note that Edward is crouching down in front of me. He'd been a mostly silent observer throughout my ordeal, instead communicating through burning glares and the occasional displeased rumble in his chest. I hadn't paid him much attention. I'd been too busy finding out that the small but vital progress I'd made over the last year had just been wiped out. Everything inside my cabinet was gone—stolen or thrown away—and with it went the last shred of hopefulness I'd managed to hang onto.

One of my shoulders jiggles, and I realize that it's Edward, trying to get my attention.

"Hey. Hey, you. Bella."

"What?" My voice is flat, dead.

"It's eight o'clock. Do you have a place to go tonight? I can talk to these guys and work something out."

I shudder, then shake my head. I can't even think about coming back here again. Not only does it now hold this terrible memory, I also might be tempted to commit assault and battery. Paul's cheating is nothing compared to the devastation Jim just caused.

"What are you going to do, then?"

The irritated tone in his voice manages to register through my shock. What the hell is his problem? He could use a little dose of perspective; it's not like the majority of his worldly possessions just got thrown in the trash or anything.

"I'll figure it out," I snap. "Look, I hate to be rude after you gave me a ride and all, but your shitty attitude is pissing me off. I'm sure you've got better things to do right now, so why don't you just go…do them."

The man must have a hearing problem in addition to his personality disorder because he doesn't move.

"What about family or friends? If they're in another state, I could get you a bus ticket…"

"Christ!" I shout, my chest heaving in anger. "What's up with all these fucking questions? If you must know, my mom killed herself after my dad ran off with every cent of theirs, and my only friend is currently curled up in a ball in an alleyway having a mental breakdown! Is that what you wanted to know? _Now_ will you get the hell away from me?"

Edward's eyes narrow, and I swear I'm about to slug a cop when he stands up quickly.

"You're coming with me."

Instantly, my rage is transformed into fear.

"Oh my god, no," I gasp. "Please, _please_, don't arrest me—I could lose my job if they find out! I _need_ that job. What can I do to make you change your mind? I mean, I wasn't really going to hit you," I add pathetically, wondering if he'd read my earlier thoughts.

He stares at me for a second and then bursts into laughter.

"Calm down, little girl. I'm not arresting you. I'm taking you back to my place."

_Oh._

My heart races as I look him over once more. Yeah, I'd already thought about sleeping with him (and his mattress), but that was before all this shit went down. There's a big difference now: I don't have much choice in the matter. I just _can't_ lose the only job I'd managed to land after months of rejected applications.

I've all but decided to go with him. "Before I say yes, you should know that I can't handle being tied up. It makes me freak out, so if you wanted to do that at any point…"

His mouth gapes open as a genuine look of horror appears on his face.

"Did you think that I was…propositioning you?" he chokes out. "God, no! I would never! I mean, shit, that's just…" He closes his eyes and blows out a long, shuddering breath. "Listen, I have a spare bedroom you can use. My place isn't much, I just moved in, but it's got the basics. It's safer than a park bench, that's for damned sure."

"Oh." I didn't see that one coming at all. "Well, uh, yeah. That'd be great, thanks."

I get to my feet, staring at the ground in embarrassment. Talk about making a stupid assumption.

-o-o-o-o-

It's been one crazy fucking day. I got shafted at work, walked in on my boyfriend having sex with someone else, got my own major screwing at the shelter, and now I'm spending the night in a cop's apartment.

Insane.

I'm lying on a ridiculously comfortable queen-sized bed in an undecorated room half-filled with moving boxes. My damp hair smells like the Dove shampoo I used during my shower, and I'm in Edward's tee shirt and boxers. It feels weird; I've never worn a guy's clothes, not even Paul's. I didn't have much choice, though, unless I wanted to sleep in my dirty work clothes or the single spare set I had in my duffle.

Edward had been gruff and awkward as he offered them to me. Actually, he'd been that way the entire evening. When we stopped at a convenience store, he thrust a twenty-dollar bill in my face and told me to get whatever I needed while he waited in the car. The tour of his small apartment was conducted almost silently, and he was grumpy as fuck when said he was going to his room for the night.

We didn't talk about anything personal, and I'm realizing that I know next to nothing about him. I suppose I should be more worried about it, but for some reason, I trust him. His uncle had seemed like a good guy, and I don't think he'd have turned me over to an axe-murderer or whatever. And as Edward said, being on the street wasn't a very safe option, either.

Speaking of my host, I wonder what his deal is. Has he always been so emo or did something happen to make him that way? Maybe he's different around his friends—if he has any. What about a wife or girlfriend…boyfriend? There hadn't been a ring on his finger, and I hadn't noticed any signs of other people spending time in his apartment.

It doesn't matter one way or the other, of course. I'm just curious about the man who grudgingly insists on helping me out. I wonder why he's doing it and decide to ask him in the morning.

Though the bed is nicer than anything I've slept on before, I can't seem to fall asleep. My mind's scrambled from the events of the day. Moving restlessly, I get up to use the bathroom.

As I walk down the short hallway, I hear muttering coming from Edward's room. It's late, probably around 1 a.m., but maybe he's having problems sleeping, too. Mentally shrugging, I take care of business in the bathroom and then wander into the kitchen to get a drink of water.

I've just put my glass in the dishwasher when the sounds of muffled cries reach my ears. Without stopping to think, I run out of the kitchen and throw open the door to Edward's room.

It's really dark, and my eyes take a few seconds to adjust. Edward's thrashing around in the middle of a king-sized bed. It's hard to understand exactly what he's yelling, but I do hear "no" and "please" a lot.

Okay, he's not being murdered in his sleep; it's only a nightmare. But it sounds like a bad one, and I wonder if I should wake him. I know I'd appreciate it if someone did that for me. However, I don't want him to freak out that I'm in his bedroom. I mean, he's a cop—what if he's got a gun under his pillow and thinks I'm an intruder?

But then he makes the most anguished sound, some cross between a sob and a wail, and I have to go to him. I recognize the pain in those cries—I've experienced it, too.

Switching on the bedside lamp, I put a cautious hand on his shoulder and give a little shake.

"Hey, wake up. Come on, Edward. You're having a bad dream…"

He flips over from his stomach to his back, nearing smacking my face in the process, but still doesn't wake. I grab his shoulder again, using more force this time. After several almost-violent shakes from my hand, he moans and blinks in the soft light of the lamp.

"Thank fuck," I sigh, sitting down on the mattress beside him. At this point, I figure we're past the point of being complete strangers. Hell, I'm wearing more of his clothes than he is.

With my mind focused on waking him, I hadn't noticed that he was sleeping without a shirt. Now, that's about all I'm seeing. I'm sure it's utterly inappropriate to ogle someone after he's had a traumatic nightmare, but, _damn_, the body in front of me is just _that _fine.

"Bella?"

His confused, raspy voice snaps me out of my trance. I drag my gaze away from his chest.

"Sorry 'bout waking you up, but you were yelling pretty loud. Didn't want your neighbors calling the cops, ha ha."

I can see the exact moment he realizes what happened. Everything about him tenses, from his muscles to his expression. It's like he's putting up both a physical and emotional wall around him. I stand up and take a few steps away from the bed.

"Hey, I'm not gonna ask," I say, hoping to reassure him. "It's your business, not mine. We all got our demons, right?"

He sits up, and my eyes automatically go to his chest again. I'm not normally so fixated on appearance, but when such a sight is _right there_, well…

"Sorry for waking you up," he says, running a hand through cropped hair that's sticking up in every direction.

"I hadn't fallen asleep, so you're good." I start backing up to the door. "Well alright then, I guess I'll be going now. Um, 'night."

I'm almost in the hall when he speaks again.

"Bella."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

-o-o-o-o-

Edward's standing in front of the stove when I stumble into the kitchen around eight. Tired and feeling emotionally drained, I brace myself for a morning of weirdness with him. I wonder if he's going to bring what had happened during the night.

"How do you want your eggs?" he asks, voice brusque as usual.

"Uh, over easy?"

It had been a while since I'd been able to choose how my eggs were cooked. When the shelter served eggs, they were always in the form of a dry, cake-like square. I usually went with cereal on those days.

"Can I do anything to help?" I ask.

"I've got plates, but you can get out silverware and glasses. Napkins are already on the table."

A handful of minutes later, I'm devouring my eggs, along with bacon, buttered toast, a side of raspberries, and orange juice.

"Oh my god, this is fucking incredible!" I say between bites.

Edward looks at me strangely. "I didn't do anything special."

"Yeah, but the things that are supposed to be hot are hot, the cold things are cold, and nothing's been sitting around for god-knows-how-long. And this orange juice, damn…I think it's made from real oranges!"

"You can get those things with a SNAP card, you know."

I don't tell him that I let Alice use the little I receive in food stamps.

"Orange juice and fruit, yes, but how would I cook everything else?"

He's quiet for a while as he eats, most likely thinking about my situation. I soon find out I'm right.

"You said you have a job. Why don't you get a place? I know rent's expensive in the city, but there are plenty of roommate ads in the paper."

I push a piece of bacon around my plate. I feel like he deserves an honest answer for the hospitality he's given me, but there's too much at risk. I tell him what I can.

"That's the plan…_was_ the plan. I'd been saving up for first month's rent and a security deposit so that we—I mean, so I could get a studio. But now…" I bite my lip, willing away the helpless frustration that's welling up. "I was about halfway there, and it's hard to know I'll have to start all over again."

"What do you mean?" Edward asks, setting his fork down.

"The money…all my savings…it was in my locker…"

"What? Are you serious?" Edward shouts, startling me. "Why the hell wasn't it in a bank account?"

"Well, I…I…"

My throat closes up, and I can't speak. It's not like I have a good answer, anyway. I could tell him that it was a childish mistake, or that I would've felt ashamed going to the bank with my pitifully small checks and handful of one-dollar bills, or that seeing the envelope of cash grow thicker gave me the sense of accomplishment I needed to keep fighting. All the reasons were true, yet none of them matter now.

Shaking his head in apparent disgust, Edward stands up from the table and carries his plate to the sink.

"How goddamn stupid can you be? It's no wonder you're still on the streets," he mutters.

The words hurt, but my feelings are expressed through anger. I pick up the plastic bowl of berries in front of me and hurl it at the back of Edward's head.

He stands there a moment, frozen, then spins around. His eyes are wide as he spies my clenched fists and furious expression.

"Hey, take it easy," he says, raising his hands up in front of him. "You're right, I shouldn't have said that. It was mean, unfair, and—"

He stops and looks down at his feet, his nose wrinkled in distaste. I can't help myself as I lean to the side to see what's so interesting. And then I snort, amused despite my irritation.

He's picked up one of his feet to inspect it, and on the bottom, there's a squashed mess of raspberry pulp. He's even managed to get it between his toes.

"Serves you right," I grumble.

He grimaces, sets his foot back on the floor, then looks at me. We glare at each other for the longest time. I have no idea what we're trying to prove by being the one who doesn't back down, but apparently we're both in it to win.

I'm stunned when his shoulders suddenly relax and he starts to laugh. It's a full-on gut-busting, side-splitting laugh, and I can't help but join in even though I'm not sure what the hell is so funny.

"Why are we laughing?" I ask a minute later when he's gotten himself somewhat under control.

"I can't speak for you," he replies, sucking in deep gulps of air and wiping away tears, "but never in a million years would I have imagined my Saturday morning going like this."

My smile is genuine. "Yeah, I'll bet. This wasn't on my calendar, either." I stand up and tilt my head toward the red jam on the floor. "Sorry about that. The stress is putting me on edge."

"No, it's alright. Considering what I said, I think you were well within your rights to pelt me with breakfast."

He rips off a handful of paper towels and begins to clean up the mess. I crouch down to help.

"Maybe, but I still shouldn't have done it. You've been really nice…and weren't wrong about me being stupid. The way you said it was just a little harsh, that's all. I mean, haven't you ever made a big fucking mistake that you want to take back?"

I get up to throw away my berry-stained paper towels. Edward is still on the floor when I turn around. He's just squatting there in front of the now-clean floor, staring at his hands.

"You okay?"

His eyes flick up at me, and I almost gasp at the sadness I see in them. What the hell happened to this man? He looks broken, tormented…_haunted_.

"Do you have plans for the day?" he asks suddenly, lurching to his feet and gesturing at the kitchen table.

It takes me a second to switch gears as we sit down across from one another.

"Um, I'll probably go to work to see if my boss can pay me early. Then I'll try to get some essentials together to replace what's gone. I know the owner of a drycleaner who'll give me a few bucks to go through his racks and pull out clothes that've been there for over 18 months. He'll let me buy any of those for the cost of the drycleaning bill.

"That'll probably take me up to dinner. If Ali—…uh, I mean, if other plans don't work out, I'll try to get a bed at the Springfield Rescue Mission."

I shrug, hoping it looks like I'm not worried about any of it. That's true in some ways. I mean, I'm not going to starve to death, and the spring weather is nice. I've had it worse.

Edward rubs his jaw, thinking hard about something.

"Not too long ago," he says "I did make a 'big fucking mistake'—one that's infinitely worse than not putting money in a bank." He sighs and shakes his head sadly. "There's nothing that can put right what I did, but as far as your problem goes, well…we can fix that."

"We?"

"You need a place to live, right? I've got an extra bedroom. It's yours to use for as long as you need."

I have to wait for my jaw to rise off the floor before I can say anything.

"You're kidding."

"Of course, I'll have the standard expectations of you as an adult roommate—reasonable neatness, no illegal activities, stuff like that. For now, you can stay as my guest, but if the arrangement works out, I'll have to get you on the lease at some point. It's the building's policy—extended visitation isn't allowed."

"You're kidding," I repeat, still not able to believe what he's offering.

"Nope. It really is the policy here. I read it in the list of terms I signed." He smirks, knowing that's not what I was talking about. "I'm not kidding about you staying, either. Hell, it might even be…fun. I can't remember the last time I was in a food fight."

I hear what he's saying, but there's got to be a catch. My forehead wrinkles as I try to think it through.

"What about rent? I really can't afford—"

"Don't worry about it," Edward says, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "I'm not rich by any means, but I'm not bad off, either. I've been working for almost sixteen years and don't have expensive tastes. I'm already paying for the extra room, anyway."

Damn, when he started earning a paycheck, I was only three.

"How old are you?"

"How old do you think I am?" he asks, sounding almost playful.

I tilt my head as I study his face. There's a little half-grin on his mouth that makes him look younger now than when I first saw him.

"I would go with 28, but if you've been working for 16 years, that doesn't make much sense. Unless…maybe you were mowing lawns as a kid or something like that. Okay, my guess is 30."

He chuckles. "That works for me. Actually, I'm 34. I began a four-year enlistment in the Army at 18, then switched to National Guard when I started my career in law enforcement…what's the face for?"

Until he said something, I hadn't realized I was frowning.

"Sorry, it's a gut reaction to your job. No offense, it's just that I've seen and heard things that make me hate you guys." I give him an apologetic look. "But you seem to be alright…one of the decent ones."

He doesn't say anything, his expression turning dark again. I wonder if the big mistake he regrets happened on the job. I try to change the subject.

"So you're really going to let me stay? It's almost too much to believe." I smile at him. "Now I won't have to spend hours waiting in line for a bed, which means I'll be able to work at the cleaners longer."

"You're doing it mostly for the clothes, right?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah. You'd be amazed at some of the things I can get for cheap." I shake my head. "You know, homeless and low-income people get crap sometimes for wearing designer clothes and name-brand stuff, but rich people buy a lot of shit that they wear only a few times. Then they donate bags of it. It amazes me how they can toss all that without a thought."

"Some people take what they have for granted, and they shouldn't." Edward gets up from his chair. "What would you say to a change of plans?"

"Huh?"

"I need a shopping partner."

-o-o-o-o-

"Thank you, thank you so, so much," I gush for the fiftieth time as we wait for lunch to be brought out.

"If you keep saying that, we're taking it all back."

Edward's voice is growly and rough, but I'm learning that it's his way of covering up emotion. And right now, he looks uncomfortably embarrassed by my excitement.

I can't help it, though. There are several large bags by my feet and a few more near Edward. He'd brought me to the mall saying he wanted a woman's perspective on his wardrobe options. We went to a bunch of stores, but he seemed much more interested in urging me to shop for myself. I tried arguing at first, wanting to make sure he knew I didn't expect anything, but he insisted.

And strangely, I'd had a lot of fun. Edward didn't talk a lot, but when he did, it was usually to mutter some sarcastically hilarious comment. After realizing he's a master at deadpan, I declared open season on teasing. I haven't laughed so much in years.

My phone buzzes, and I see a message from Alice. She's feeling better and asks if I can bring the wagon to her.

"You're making another face. Everything okay?"

Edward's watching me, his expression one of concern. I stare back and reach a decision on the issue I'd been thinking about all morning. I take a deep breath.

"If I tell you something, can you hear it as a…friend…and not as a cop?"

"Well, it depends. If it's something obviously illegal, then I'd have to take action."

"I don't think it is—at least, nothing major."

"Okay, then don't give me any details. Maybe you could tell me about _your friend_." He even makes air quotes.

A corner of my mouth turns up. "This really is about a friend. She's 17 and has been living on the street for over three years. I won't go too deep into her past, but let's just say it's about as fucked up as you can get."

My voice breaks near the end, and I pause to get a hold of myself.

"She's doing a lot better but still has problems. Physically, there are scars from her injuries, and she has only limited use of her hands. Certain things terrify her, especially official-type people like cops, social workers, and all. Sometimes she'll have these panic attacks and sort of check out from the world for a while.

"I met her during my first month of being homeless. Though she won't go to a shelter or use any of the programs herself, she knows a lot and helped me so much…still does, actually. She's the closest thing to a family member I have.

"All that stuff in the wagon is hers, and I need to get it back to her today. She stays in an alley between two old buildings. You don't have to come with me…I mean, I'm sure you have better things to do than, you know…or if you'd get in trouble for being there…"

I'm suddenly flustered and can't say what I mean. It's surprising to me that I'm worried about what he might think. Why does he make me care about that sort of crap? I feel like I'm going soft, and in my situation, that's a dangerous thing.

Edward raises an eyebrow in curiosity, so I take another stab at it.

"Okay, here's some complete honesty for you. Even though you're a grumpy-assed cop, I'm having a good time today. I'd like to keep hanging with you, and not just so you can buy me more things." I smirk to let him know I'm joking about that part. "My friend is waiting for her stuff, and I need to check on her, anyway. It'd be cool for you to come along, meet her and all, but if you do, it's best she doesn't find out you're a badge—at least, not until she knows you better."

Edward opens his mouth to speak but seems to think twice. He stares at his plate.

I can't believe that my heart is hammering in my chest, as if his answer means something to me. Because it doesn't. Not at all.

Soon after I've convinced myself I'm not having a heart attack, he looks up me, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"You were honest with me, so I'm going to do the same. I had a good time with you, too, even though you're foul-mouthed and throw raspberries. I'd like to go with you to meet your friend, and it's fine with me if you don't tell her what I do."

I blow out a sigh of relief and grin like the idiot I'm apparently becoming. With all that out of the way, I can finally concentrate on the food in front of me. Edward and I share a comfortable silence as we eat our meals.

Despite his head start, Edward's still working on his sandwich when I finish. Feeling full and relaxed, I lean back in my seat and let my gaze wander.

It settles on a man and woman, both wearing business suits, who are sitting two tables away. Their heads are close together in conversation, and they seem to be staring at Edward.

"Do you know those people?"

He turns to look and tenses as soon as he spots them.

"No, I've never seen them before."

Business Man's eyes widen then narrow as he stands up and approaches our table.

"You're Edward Cullen, aren't you?" It's not really a question, and the guy's voice is acidic.

Edward doesn't respond but I see the muscles moving over his jaw. He's upset about something.

"Bet that food tastes good. Enjoying it?" The man reaches out and knocks a glass over, dousing Edward's plate with water. "Oh no, looks like someone's giving you a hard time, and you were simply going about your day, minding your own business. Does it make you angry to be harassed like that…maybe angry enough to stick up for yourself?"

Edward just sits there, staring blankly at the table and taking what the jackass is dishing out. I sure as hell won't, though. Seeing Edward look so defeated makes me feel weirdly protective.

"Listen, I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but I'm gonna get up in your face if you don't leave," I snarl, standing and leaning forward over the table.

Business Suit scoffs, his glare focused on Edward. "Trying to help your image by getting lunch for kids instead of murdering them?" His expression becomes calculating. "Or…are you sleeping with them? Was that boy your competition—is that why you killed him?"

The man's words shock me, but it'll take more than some stranger's bullshit to make me back off.

"Not that it's any of your business, but this guy has been nicer to me than almost anyone else in my life. And we're not having sex, you stupid douche. He's just being a good person, which is more than I can say about you."

"Yeah, so _good_ that he bullied innocent kids, gunned one of them down in cold blood, and then got his buddies to cover it up. The entire system is corrupt—he didn't even get indicted! Fucking pigs."

I wince, thinking how I'd used that same term less than 24 hours ago. I feel ashamed, but instead of beating myself up about, I get angrier at the asshole in front of me. My hands curl into fists as I step closer to him.

"Say that again, bitch. Go ahead and give me a reason to wrinkle that expensive suit of yours…"

He looks down his nose at me and smirks. "Aren't you a cute little thing? How much does he pay you to suck his—"

It only takes a split-second for me to attack. I plan to knee him in the balls first, and when he bends over, I'll give him a nice set of black eyes by shoving the heel of my palm up his nose. From there, it'll be a matter of doing the most damage before someone stops me.

I've lunged forward and am bringing my leg up to nail him when strong arms wrap around me from the side. I'm thrown off balance but quickly recover and try to attack again, even as Edward is dragging me away.

"You pathetic piece of shit!" I shout over the gasps and exclamations of the other diners. "You better hope I don't run into you on the street, motherfucker!"

"Bella, be quiet!" Edward hisses in my ear. "Don't threaten him. Trust me, I'm not worth it."

By the time I've calmed down enough for him to release me, we're at the front of the restaurant. Edward keeps a hand on my arm as he hands his credit card to one of the servers. There's no need for him to worry, though. My anger is spent, and I'm too busy going over what Business Suit said.

I'm remembering some people at the shelter talking about a cop who shot and killed a 16-year-old male. It happened several months ago. The cop was on a routine patrol when he supposedly stopped to check on a group of teens who were arguing.

Almost everyone I heard agreed that the cop had shot first, straight into the middle of the group. Only a few people argued and said he didn't fire until one of the kids pulled a gun on him while the others ran.

Edward's quiet as we leave the mall and walk into the parking garage. I can almost feel the self-hatred rolling off of him. When we reach his SUV, I stop in front of him and look up into his eyes.

"I don't care what that shitbag said," I tell him. "There's no way you would've shot without having a damned good reason."

He snorts bitterly. "What makes you so sure? You don't even know me."

"I know enough. I've seen how hard it is to be a cop and have to make split-second decisions. You must've thought the kid was going to hurt you. Shit, who's just gonna stand there when someone's aiming a gun at them?"

When he doesn't say anything, I take a step closer. "And I'm not the only who thinks that. The asshole said you weren't charged, right? As much as I don't trust the system, I can't imagine that they'd take that kind of shit lightly."

"Maybe I should've been charged," Edward rasps, closing his eyes. "Maybe I should've gone to jail. At least I'd still be alive in there, which is more than I can say for Marcus. I wish…god, if I could go back in time…I think I would've rather taken the bullet than have to live with the memories…to live knowing that I…I…" He covers his face with his hands and he turns his back to me.

Well, damn.

What am I supposed to do now? How the hell am I supposed to comfort a cop who's almost twice my age? He probably doesn't even want me to.

But I notice the tension in his shoulder muscles through his shirt; it's like he's trying to hold himself together by squeezing inward. I'm all too familiar with the feeling. It's hard for me to see him this way without trying to help.

I put a tentative hand on his back. When he doesn't flinch away, I move so that I'm in front of him again and let my arms settle around his waist.

"Fuck getting shot," I say, pressing my face into his shoulder. "I'm glad you're here. What would I have done without you?"

His body is stiff and unmoving against me, and we stand that way for what seems like a long time. Finally, he starts to relax. I can almost feel the tension bleed out of his muscles as they uncoil under my fingers. Then, one hand softly grasps my waist, followed by the other.

This causes strange sensations, and I press closer, trying to figure them out. There's warmth—his body seems to be all around, touching me everywhere at once. Security and strength—which is weird because I'm the one trying to support him. Contentment—a sense of peace I haven't felt in so long.

And then there's desire—a feeling that's growing the more I get to know him. Of course, it's kind of twisted and wrong to think about this when he's in pain over ending someone's life. I try my best to ignore the inappropriate aches in certain places on my body.

But I can't.

It's getting to be too much, and I'm about to step back when he squeezes me even closer.

"Thank you, Bella…so much." His voice is quiet and almost…tender.

Great. Now I'm gooey inside, which makes me just as uncomfortable. Thankfully, Edward releases me and gestures to his vehicle.

"Come on, let's go. Your friend is waiting."

-o-o-o-o-

Alice surprises the hell out of me when she recognizes Edward immediately. I can't figure it out until she lifts the cover of her makeshift mattress to reveal a number of stacked newspapers. His picture appears on a few of the cover pages.

I'm worried he'll get upset again, but after grimacing a few times, he gives her a sheepish grin, and that's the end of that subject.

She further shocks me by how easily she opens up to him, detailing her tragic tale without any signs of unease. Jasper is happy as long as Alice is, even rolling over to let Edward scratch his belly.

We decide to go to a nearby park and spend a few hours there, talking as Jasper fetches the sticks we throw. When Alice's stomach starts making audible noises, Edward insists on getting food. While he's gone, she and I talk more about our situation.

I'd already told her what happened at the shelter. She didn't hold it against me that I'd lost our savings, even though it meant she'd be in the alley longer than we'd planned. Edward had said she was welcome to stay with me in the extra bedroom, but Alice regretfully declined. Even if his apartment allowed dogs—it didn't—she wouldn't be able to handle sharing a living space with a man. The horrors of her past were too much to overcome.

"At least you'll still be able to take regular showers," I remind her. "One of us can watch Jas outside while you go to Edward's. I'm so glad they're good with each other."

"And what about you?" Alice asks, stroking her dog's rough-textured coat. "You also seem to be good with Edward…really good."

"Ugh, is it that obvious?" I groan. "I get the weirdest feelings when we're together, and I don't understand why. I mean, yeah, he's good-looking, but it's more than that. I don't know what's so special about him."

"Do you need to know?"

"Well, yeah. What if I end up…_liking_…him, but for the wrong reason? What if it's only because he's helping me out of a really bad situation?"

"Maybe. Only one way to find out, though. I guess it's up to you to decide if it's worth taking the chance." She sighs. "You know I'm not the one to ask. I'm afraid of my own shadow."

I pull her into a fierce hug, desperately wishing I could help her fight her inner demons. I just feel so helpless sometimes.

Edward comes back before long, bringing several carry-out bags with him. He even produces dog food and treats for Jasper. Alice gives me a sly look as she accepts Edward's offering.

"Thanks a million! Just another _reason_ that I _like_ you so much."

I flick her off when he turns to accept her enthusiastic gratitude with a surprised "you're welcome."

The evening finds me and Edward sitting on his couch as I flip through channels on the TV. Alice and Jasper are back "home."

Edward offered to get her a room at a pet-friendly residence hotel until something else could be figured out, but she turned him down, saying she preferred the familiarity of her little alleyway. She did, however, arrange to stop by the apartment the next day for a shower.

"Why are you being so helpful to us?" I ask, giving up on my program search and tossing him the remote.

He puts on ESPN and lowers the volume as he appears to think about his answer.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," he says at last. "I try to be a good person, in general, but it's not like I'm doing charitable deeds all the time. I tend to go through life with tunnel vision. And when something affects me personally, I'm very devoted to the cause." His eyes flick to me then back to the TV. "I guess your situation's become personal to me."

I'm both touched and disappointed. He admitted that he cares, but only about my welfare…not about _me_. Still, it's more than I should expect, more than I'm used to.

"I'm very lucky, then," I say earnestly.

He seems at a little uneasy at my words. "Yeah, well…it's, um, nice to have some company for once."

My brow furrows, and I decide to ask a question that's been on my mind.

"You said you just moved here, but you're not married? No significant other?"

His face contorts in pain. "Not any more. My fiancé ditched me when all the shit when down after…the shooting…"

He stares at the TV, but I know he's blind to the images on the screen. Just like with Alice, I feel that overpowering sense of helplessness. The least I can do is put a comforting hand on his arm.

We sit that way for some time, with him battling tragic memories and me trying to give strength through simple touch.

But then something changes between us. I'm not sure what, why, or how, but it feels like there's an electric charge in the air. I shift uncomfortably and pull my hand back.

He looks at me like he's trying to figure out, too, and suddenly, I'm breathing faster. His eyes appear to get darker as he reaches out to take the hand that had been on his arm.

"Bella…you should know…"

We're leaning toward each other now, slowly getting closer.

"Know what?" I murmur, lost in his deep, soulful eyes.

"I want to tell you that I…I…"

The room temperature feels hotter than before, and my mouth is dry. When my tongue darts out to wet my lips, Edward's gaze follows its movement.

"Yes?" I breathe, shivering with anticipation.

Then, for no reason apparent to me, he jerks backward, breaking the spell.

"Uh…I want to, um, get ready for bed," he stammers, his eyes wide and uncertain. "Goodnight, Bella."

He rushes out of the room, leaving me surprised, confused…and horny as hell.

Well, damn.

A shower helps me calm down, and with a mournful smile, I put on my new set of PJs, courtesy of Edward.

I climb into bed, deliberately ignoring thoughts of what almost happened between us. Instead, I concentrate on the pain that's so obviously wearing him down.

In the past day, he's done so much for two people he barely knows. That says a lot about him. I don't care what happened before—he deeply regrets it and is trying to be a good person _now_. That's the important thing to me.

I'm lost in my thoughts for a while until nature calls. I head toward the bathroom and am surprised to hear water running in there. It sounds like the tub is filling up, though I thought Edward was already in bed. Nearing the door, I see a note taped to the middle of it, right at eyelevel.

It looks familiar. Very familiar.

The edges of my vision go blurry as I get closer. There's no point in reading the words; they're burned in my memory. But I can't seem to look away.

_Don't come in, just call the cops._

_I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough_

_but I just can't keep going._

_I love you forever._

_Mom_

I ignore the instructions and burst into the bathroom, praying that things are different. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe I can save her this time.

But every detail of the horrific scene is the same—I'm not even in Edward's apartment anymore. Somewhere in the distance, I hear muted screaming. Mine.

Did I call the police? Did a neighbor hear my cries? There are paramedics and cops and firefighters and it's all one hazy jumble of colors and sounds and nothingness. Emptiness.

Until they try to take me away from her.

Someone is trying to carry me out of the bathroom. I fight, kicking and screaming. My dad is gone, our house is gone, my old friends are gone, and now my mom is gone. It's all been taken away, and now they're trying to take _me_ away.

I can't let them. If I leave this bathroom, I'll have nothing left. No one to care about, nowhere to live, no reason to keep going.

But I have to keep going. I have to keep fighting. I have to…

"Bella, I've got you. It's okay. You can stay with me, I promise. Shh, it's okay."

"Edward?" I gasp, trying to understand how he fits into this Hell.

"Yeah, it's me. You were having a bad dream."

"It was just…bad dream…" I put a hand over my pounding heart.

"Just a dream," he repeats firmly.

I nod, trying to catch my breath.

"Is there anything I can do…maybe get you a drink or something?"

I feel a wave of panic at the thought of him leaving the room.

"Can you just…stay for a little while? Unless it would be too weird…fuck, never mind. I'm okay." I hate appearing weak.

"No, it's fine," Edward insists. "I can hang out."

He looks around the room as if not sure what to do with himself. Wanting him close, I grab his hand and pull him onto the bed with me. After a moment's hesitation, he sits against the headboard.

I feel better almost immediately. Pushing my pillow against his hip, I curl up at an angle to his legs and let out a relieved sigh. Edward reaches down to cover me with a blanket.

"We really need to stop meeting at night like this," he murmurs.

I try to make some sort of noise in agreement but yawn instead. With Edward near me, I'm safe.

I don't experience any nightmares this time, but upon waking in the morning, I show many of the same physical effects: racing pulse, heavy breathing, skin covered with a sheen of perspiration.

But the reason for them is oh-so-different.

I'd had the most intense dream about a certain green-eyed, bronze-haired police officer shoving me up against a wall and conducting a rough, very thorough frisking. When I tried to resist, he handcuffed me to a bed that was conveniently located nearby. The strange thing is that I didn't freak out about being restrained. In fact, it'd been pretty damned hot.

Of course, I wake up just as Officer Cullen was about to take off his uniform. Figures.

The low light in the room suggests that it's early morning. I'd try to go back to sleep and return to that amazing dream, but I'm too keyed up. Yawning irritably, I stretch my limbs across the firm surface that they're resting on. The firm, warm Edward that they're resting on.

Holy shit.

Whether it had happened accidentally or not, Edward had fallen asleep in bed with me. I'm lying almost completely on top of him, our bodies pressed together in a _very_ interesting way. And, _oh god_, it seems like one particular part of him is also firm. No wonder he'd been the star of my nighttime fantasies.

My desire shoots through the roof, and I'm nearly panting now. I can't think straight. There's probably a correct course of action to take in situations like this, but nothing's coming to me. I'm just trying my damnedest to keep my hips from grinding against the deliciously hard dick that's twitching between my legs.

It literally hurts, trying to keep still. I want to scream and end up biting my lip to keep quiet. Finally, it occurs to me that I should slide off him, go to the other side of the bed, and forget this ever happened.

I should, but I don't.

Instead, I further torture myself by concentrating how every part of his body feels against mine. Defined thigh muscles, flat stomach, hard chest, strong shoulders, thick cock—he's all man, real and solid.

And now that solidness is shifting beneath me.

Though I'm almost certain he's still asleep, calloused hands grasp my hips and drag me down onto his dick. Through my pajama pants, I can feel the head pushing up into me. If the layers of clothes were gone, I'd be taking him inside.

I moan at the thought and move against him. The friction feels so, so good, but it's not enough—it's not right. It won't be unless he wants me, too.

It's not just sex I'm after with this man.

I roll onto my side and turn his head toward me with a hand laid against his face.

"Edward, wake up."

I rub a thumb over his cheekbone and repeat my words until his eyes flutter open.

"What is it?" he grunts, his hand reaching down to tug on his cock through his shorts.

Well _that's_ not helping my resolve. I whimper and tear my eyes away from the sight.

"God, if you keep that up, I can't be held responsible when I jump you." I want nothing more than to take over for him with my own hand, or maybe my mouth.

"Huh? Oh…shit!" He sucks in a breath and drops it like it's hot. "Fuck, shit…I'm _so_ sorry. Christ, you must think I'm such a pervert…"

I snort in amusement. Compared to me, he's an absolute prude.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew how much it turned me on."

"Turned you…on?" he chokes out in disbelief.

His expression is one of shame and embarrassment, but I think I see lust in there, too. It gives me hope, and I decide to take a crazy chance. I move to a sitting position on the bed, pulling him up, too.

"Okay, you ready for some more honesty? The truth is that I think you're fuck-hot, and I want you, a lot. But, I'd also hate to screw anything up between us. Even though it's only been—what?—a day and a half, you've become important to me. I'm starting to really care about you…a lot. Even more than how much I want to get some toe-curling animal sex from you right now."

He stares at me, his eyes wide, not saying a damned thing. For a really long time. I try not to let it bother me. Sure, I probably surprised him with my random announcement, but one would think he'd be _a little_ happy to be told he was good-looking, desired, and held dear.

Jesus, he's still staring, and I fiddle with the hem of my camisole. This is getting ridiculous.

"Alrighty, then," I say, clutching a pillow to my chest, "I'm going to assume that didn't go over well. Maybe it would be best for you to head to your own room and pretend I never said anything. I mean, all of it's still true for me, but I don't want us to be weird. If we're going to be living together, then we should be—"

"Bella, listen, I—"

"No, it's fine, really. You don't have to say anything. There's no reason to be—"

"But I'm trying to tell you that—"

I open my mouth to continue protesting, but the glower on his face stops me. When I clamp my lips shut, he rolls his eyes.

"I'm pretty sure that animal sex doesn't involve quite so much talking," he says stoically.

And now it's my turn to stare.

"What are you saying…do you mean…you want…?"

"Despite the reasons I shouldn't…yes, I want. I _want_ you."

He cups a hand around my jaw and leans in, eyes bright with emotion. I'm frozen in shock when his lips brush gently against mine.

Noticing that I'm not responding, Edward begins to pull away. Thankfully, I snap out of my daze and take hold of his shirt, tugging him back to me.

There's no lack of heat the second time around. Now I'm eager and excited, trying to rush through the foreplay in anticipation of feeling his body against mine. But he resists my hurried advance, slowing the pace of our kiss and pinning my arms to my sides. I writhe in his grasp, but he is patiently firm.

When my body relaxes under his touch, he guides me down to the bed, hovering as I lie on my back. His tongue explores my mouth, teasing and deliberate. As if it's a tangible thing, he caresses and molds my desire, showing me that slow and sensual can be just as powerful as fast and furious.

It's soon clear that Edward knows exactly what he's doing in bed. With just his mouth on mine, he's managed to get me hotter than I've ever been.

"Please," I beg against his lips. "Oh, god, _please_."

He chuckles a deep, throaty sound that makes my thighs rub together.

"You're very impatient, aren't you, Little Girl?"

His head drops down, and I feel a warm, wet pull on the skin of my neck. Each pulse is drawn out and agonizingly slow. I'm going out of my mind.

"Enough," I growl, pushing him off me. It's time to turn the tables.

He's surprised, and that works in my favor. Within seconds, I've yanked off his shirt and am straddling his waist.

"I've wanted to do this all day," I mutter just before tracing around a nipple with the tip of my tongue.

His body jerks beneath me, and I hum in victory. He's not the only one with skills. My mouth moves across his chest—kissing, nipping, sucking, tasting. He groans heavily when I flick my tongue in and out of his navel. The sound travels through every cell in my body and shatters what little self-restraint I have left.

In one quick, fluid movement, I seize the waistbands of Edward's shorts and boxer briefs, pulling on them to release the twitching cock underneath. I'm too single-minded to appreciate the sight of his thick hardness; my mouth is already open and taking him in.

"Fffuck!" he hisses, fingers digging into the sheets and eyes squeezing shut.

His reaction causes another surge of arousal to flood through me. It's hard to concentrate with the nearly unbearable ache between my legs, but I'm determined to give the best blow job of my life.

His rock-hard dick in my mouth certainly provides plenty of motivation. I pull in as much length as I can, closing my lips around his shaft and reveling in the incomparable feeling. While blowing his cock won't bring me to a body-shattering orgasm the way fucking it will, my sensitive mouth is able to learn him better than any other part of me can—through touch, taste, and smell.

I hold him there for a moment, letting his thick weight rest on my tongue. Quiet and still like this, I can feel his blood pounding through enlarged vessels and the silky smoothness of skin stretched tight over his girth. I can taste the delicious saltiness of his arousal at the back of my throat.

"Bella," Edward growls through gritted teeth.

"Hmmmm?"

"_Oh fuck!_"

He jerks in my mouth, and I grin around his cock. Just the response I was going for.

His hands come to the side of my head and gently but insistently guide me up his body. His kiss is deep and purposeful, no teasing this time.

"Why are you still wearing clothes?" he mutters.

He almost seems irritated at the idea, and I'm all too happy to take care of the problem. It obvious he's given up on going slowly when he tugs at my top as I'm sliding out of my pajama bottoms. The camisole has barely cleared my head, and he's already sucking on a mouthful of my breast.

There's nothing unhurried and soft about his actions now. With one quick twist of his torso, I'm lying beneath him, my body pinned to the mattress by his weight. His hands keep my arms still as he concentrates attention on my chest.

As amazing as it feels, I'm much more interested in the dick that grazes my stomach and hips as he moves over me. I wrap my legs around his thighs, and we're lined up again. This time, there are no clothes in the way of what I want.

But there should be _something_ between us, and we both realize it at the same time. Edward sits back abruptly on his heels, his face a mixture of frustration, desire, and disappointment.

"Fuck!" he curses, a hand scrubbing over his forehead and into his hair. "I don't have anything."

My eyes are locked on his jutting cock. I lick my lips greedily.

"How bad would you think of me if I said I've got some in my bag?"

He stares hard, his eyes boring into mine. I wonder if it would be worse if he thought I'd gotten them to use with him or that they were left over from Paul (they were).

But when I realize that his expression is one of lust, I know he doesn't care either way.

"Get them," he commands, moving off me as he takes his dick in his hand.

The feeling of him pushing into me is like nothing I've ever experienced. I don't know if it's because of the intense buildup, the way I feel about him, how maddeningly slow he enters, or maybe all of it together.

His thrusts are deep and long, coaxing out every bit of aching pleasure from my body. Panting and damp with sweat, I cling to him as we move together. His tongue mimics the action of his cock, and I feel full of him, like he's surrounding me inside and out. The pressure's building, and soon I'm at the point where a few well-placed strokes will set off my release.

I know exactly what will make me come and am not afraid to take charge. Grabbing his hips, I hold him in place while angling my body into position.

"Oh god!" I gasp as the head of his cock slides over the right spot. My whole body stiffens so that he can hit it again and again and…

_I'm coming_.

I don't know if I say it out loud or not. I arch my back and circle my hips to ride out the all-encompassing waves. I'm moaning and twitching and gasping in pleasure.

"God, yes," Edward grunts hungrily, slamming into me even harder.

It's his turn as he rears up and pushes on the back of my knees. My thighs are pressed together now, my entrance stretched tight around his ever-hardening dick. I know he's close.

His eyes shut are shut, his head thrown back, lips parted slightly—I've never seen anything more beautiful. I'm awestruck that he looks this way because of me.

His thrusting becomes erratic, and amazingly, I know the instant Edward begins. I can actually feel him expand and pulse inside me.

"Holy shit!" I breathe, surprised by a resurgence of arousal. He's just so damned _full_. Hell, if I'd known that was going to happen, I probably could've gone for another orgasm. That information will definitely be stored away for the future.

Edward holds my hips still until he finishes, then falls to the bed on his back, bringing me with him. He removes the condom and drops it in a trashcan by the bed.

When he settles back onto the mattress, I let out a long, content sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. I can honestly say that was the best sex I've ever had, but more important is how I feel now, afterward. It's like I'm in a warm bubble of peace and happiness that I never want to leave.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"This might sound stupid, but thank you. Not just for now—for everything you've done. For the amazing person that you are."

He's quiet, and I know he's trying to keep from protesting against my words. I run my hand over the scattering of hair on his chest as he struggles. Then, finally:

"You're welcome."

He brushes hair from my forehead and places a soft kiss there. "Thank _you_ for saying that, and for pushing through my bullshit from the beginning. You're giving me hope that things can get better…that they _will_ get better. There have been so many times in the past few months when I didn't think I could ever feel…light…again."

I press my lips to his shoulder, understanding what he means. "I've been there, too—when the shit storm is raging all around and you don't see a way out. It can make such a big difference if you're not fighting alone, if there's someone you can turn to."

Edward wraps his arms tightly around me, holding me close. "I'm glad you and Alice have each other. I want you to know I'm here for you now, too…whatever you need. Whatever you want."

I lift my head to look at him and make sure he sees the sincerity in my words.

"You. It's you that I want…you that I need."

His eyes close briefly, and when they open again, they seem more alive than ever. He pulls me up his body and into a kiss—a sweet, tender kiss that conveys so much.

It says that I, too, should hope for a better tomorrow. It promises a partner in the journey ahead. It gives strength, comfort, and support. It tells me I don't have to wander adrift anymore.

It tells me I have a home.

* * *

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